


November Third

by schmulte



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28850064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schmulte/pseuds/schmulte
Summary: They are seventeen and reckless and in love. They steal kisses in broom cupboards and empty classrooms and muffle their laughter when they hear Filch walk by. They walk to Hogsmeade hand-in-hand through the tunnel beneath the humpback witch statue and swipe lollipops from the basement of Honeydukes; they always leave behind a few sickes for the trouble. Sirius will tease Remus about the flavor he chooses (“Of all the options you’re going to pick strawberry?”) and Remus will shut him up by stuffing a chocolate frog in his mouth. They’ll go to The Three Broomsticks and Sirius will see the butterbeer that leaves its residue on the crest of Remus’s cupid’s bow, and he’ll resist the urge to kiss it off him right there. In the warmth of the fire and the tingle of the contact of skin on skin, the outside world does not exist. There are now OWLs or NEWTs to study for, not prefect rounds, no war looming in the wings. There is only Sirius and Remus, and sometimes James if he’s being loud enough.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 11
Kudos: 27





	November Third

They are seventeen and reckless and in love. They steal kisses in broom cupboards and empty classrooms and muffle their laughter when they hear Filch walk by. They walk to Hogsmeade hand-in-hand through the tunnel beneath the humpback witch statue and swipe lollipops from the basement of Honeydukes; they always leave behind a few sickes for the trouble. Sirius will tease Remus about the flavor he chooses (“Of all the options you’re going to pick  _ strawberry _ ?”) and Remus will shut him up by stuffing a chocolate frog in his mouth. They’ll go to The Three Broomsticks and Sirius will see the butterbeer that leaves its residue on the crest of Remus’s cupid’s bow, and he’ll resist the urge to kiss it off him right there. In the warmth of the fire and the tingle of the contact of skin on skin, the outside world does not exist. There are now OWLs or NEWTs to study for, not prefect rounds, no war looming in the wings. There is only Sirius and Remus, and sometimes James if he’s being loud enough.

Sirius watches Remus carefully create a marmalade sandwich at breakfast and wonders if his lips will taste like apricot or raspberry when they eventually sneak off. James is sitting beside him, droning on and on about strategies for this weekend’s match against Hufflepuff. He’s sure he’ll hear it ten more times today. 

“I was thinking,” he cuts in. “about my birthday this year. I think I’d like a party.”

James stops talking. He watches his gaze move from Sirius, to Remus, to Peter, back to Sirius. Peter leans over his bowl of Owl O’s. 

“But you hate your birthday,” he squeaks, eyes wide and eyebrows raised up to his hairline. “We’ve never celebrated it.” The corner of Sirius’s mouth turns up and he leans back on the bench, shoulders shrugging underneath his leather jacket. “Thought I’d change things up this year. I was getting too predictable.”

James grins his signature grin and claps a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “Good man, Pads. We’ll make it the biggest party Gryffindor Tower has ever seen.”

Remus catches Sirius’s eye and lifts a singular scarred eyebrow. James and Sirius have their own language in which they communicate- the slightest jerk of a shoulder or twitch of the finger could create paragraphs. But Remus and Sirius have their own language; they communicate with their eyes. 

_ Are you really going to let him do this? _ Remus asks silently. Sirius bites the lower lip that threatens to come up in a smile and shrugs- it would seem almost bashful if you didn’t know Sirius. 

James slams a fist down on the table, sending milk up in the air and launching a piece of toast out of a very irritable Mary MacDonald’s hand. James ignores her glare with oblivious ease and leans forward with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

“Alright, lads. Usual spot tonight, then? Padfoot not included, of course.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Oh no, whatever will I do without your company.”

“Don’t ask me, ask Moony.”

Sirius’s eyes widen at the betrayal. Remus only smiles with a blush and shrugs his broad shoulders. “Sorry, Sirius, you heard Prongs. I’m a vital part of the party planning process.”

Sirius sends him a look that says _ I’m going to kill you later,  _ and Remus responds with a wink that says  _ Promise? _

James is, annoyingly, true to his word. After breakfast he, Remus, and Peter disappear to the usual spot (a secret corridor behind the trophy room), and Sirius is left to his own devices until lunch. He drapes himself over the couch in the Gryffindor common room, absentmindedly tossing James’s snitch into the air and catching it. He feels the end of the couch dip under a weight and his legs being lifted into a lap. 

“Alright, Evans?” he drones, not taking his eye off the snitch. 

“Black,” she greets him with a mock seriousness. “Where are the boys?”

“Plotting.”

“Without you? That’s unusual.”

He shrugs. “Can’t exactly have a surprise party if I know what the surprises will be, can I?”

Lily perks up. He feels red hair brush against the bare skin of his ankle. “Is it your birthday?”

“Soon. November third.”

“And this is the first I’m hearing of it? I’d have thought Potter would have made it a bigger spectacle.”

“Not a fan of birthdays. James respects it.”

“That’s...oddly sweet of him.”

Sirius pockets the snitch and raises an eyebrow at her; red is painting Lily’s freckled cheeks. “Full of surprises, our James.”

“Mm,” Lily gives him an appraising look. “And Remus? I suppose he’s in on the planning as well?”

“And Peter. He’s quite gifted when it comes to making decorations.”

“Oh, I’m aware. And I’m going to assume your marauding group of friends will want me to turn a blind eye as head girl?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Lils,” he leans in close and winks. “But just remember, I happen to have photographs of a certain redhead dancing on a table after three shots of Firewhisky.”

Lily swats his shoulder, looking scandalized. “You wouldn’t.”

“There’s a reason it’s called  _ black _ mail, Evans.”

They’re saved by the loud crashing of three boys trying to fit themselves in through the portrait hole at once. Sirius yanks his legs free of Lily and, discreetly as he can, sidles up to Remus’s side. James looks far too amused; Sirius decides he needs intel, and he knows exactly how to get it. 

“Dorm room,” he whispers in Remus’s ear, standing up on his toes. “Five minutes.” He punctuates the sentence with a nibble to the lobe before throwing an arm over James’s shoulder as if nothing happened. He smirks at the pink creeping up Remus’s neck. 

“Good meeting, Prongs?”

“My lips are sealed, my dear Padfoot.”

“Fair enough. Pete?”

“Oh no,” his friend shrinks back and raises two placating hands, as if being cornered by a wild beast. “I’m sworn to secrecy.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Useless, the lot of you,” then, with a pointed look at Remus. “Moony? Didn’t you have that book you wanted to show me, up in the dorm room?”

“Oh,” Remus straightens up and clears his throat several times. “Yes. Yes, let’s go, er. Find it.” 

“Smooth,” James comments, earning a smack to the back of the head. He grabs Remus’s hand and pulls him up the stairs, laughing at Peter’s call of “Use a silencing charm!” behind them. 

As soon as he has Remus inside the dorm he’s pushing him against the door and attaching his lips to the tanned flesh of his neck. Remus squirms beneath him, just how he likes, and a low whine escapes from his throat as he fists his hands desperately in the thin material of Sirius’s tee shirt. He shivers as long, pale fingers creep up beneath his shirt, skating along the skin of his stomach.

“Interesting meeting, Moony?” Sirius purrs in his ear. 

“Sirius-”

“Anything you’d like to tell me? Secret plans, perhaps?” He sucks the skin of his collarbone between his teeth, leaving a blooming purple bruise in his wake. “Grand gestures?”

“Mm...wait-” Remus shoves Sirius off by the shoulders and crosses his arms over his chest. “I cannot  _ believe _ you!.”

Sirius pulls his best innocent face. “What?”

“You are not using sex to get details of your party out of me.”

“Moooooony,” he whines. Remus’s face hardens; Sirius knows that look. He’s in prefect mode. 

“Absolutely not,” he reaches over to his bed and pointedly picks up his Arithmancy book and a quill. “If you’ll excuse me, _ I _ have homework to do.”

Sirius pouts, but he gives Remus’s ass a firm smack on his way out. He doesn’t get so much as peck after that; at dinner he goes to kiss him, only for Remus to turn his face away so it lands on his cheek.

“Moony,” he chastises. “You can’t stay mad at me forever.”

“Did you hear something, Peter?” Remus asks, looking around in an exaggerated manner. “I could have sworn I heard a voice just now.”

“Nothing at all,” Peter replies with a shit eating grin. Sirius groans over his shepherd’s pie. 

“Oh come  _ on _ .”

“Chin up, Pads,” James grins as him. “It’s your birthday tomorrow. Remus can’t be mad at you on your birthday.”

Remus chuckles lowly. “Oh, I beg to differ.”

Sirius makes it up to him back at the dorm, and wraps himself around him after, a leg thrown over a leg and his arm over his chest. He rests his chin on Remus’s shoulder and peers up at him. 

“Am I forgiven now?” He whispers. Remus takes a moment to pretend to think, carding his fingers through the dark hair that covers the pillow next to him. 

“I’ll think about it.”

They wake up the next morning to not one, not two, but three rounds of  _ Happy Birthday _ , played lovingly and terribly on the french horn by Peter. James and Remus sing along equally as terribly, and Sirius falls out of bed with his hands over his ears. 

At breakfast, he receives an owl from the Potters, containing a card and a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. James constructs him a tower out of toast and eggs, and accidentally lights the sleeve of his robes on fire lighting a birthday candle. 

They spend their afternoon in the cool November sun, Sirius with his head in Remus’s lap beneath the old oak tree by the lake, Peter and James engaged in a rousing game of gobstones. Many a Gryffindor stop to wish Sirius a happy birthday, including more than a few pretty girls with blushing faces and tinkling laughs. Sirius turns them down gently and watches Remus roll his eyes. 

James straightens up and adjusts his perpetually messy hair, a telltale sign that none other than Lily Evans is approaching. He watches his best friend straighten his head boy badge and tighten his tie, sharing a knowing look with Remus. 

“Alright, Evans?” James says, casually. Lily only gives him a raise of one eyebrow before turning to Sirius. She holds out a pink envelope. 

“Happy birthday, Sirius.” He pauses before taking the card; he looks at Lily with questioning eyes. “Go on, open it.”

It’s a small birthday card with a strange, long stick inside- white with four colored dots on the side. He looks up at Lily and frowns. 

“What is it?”

“It’s a pen. You write with it, and there’s different colors.”

He grins up at her. “Wicked. Cheers, Evans.” She smiles and walks up, leaving a practically drooling James staring after her. “Merlin, Prongs, shut your mouth. You’ll catch flies.” He puts up his hands to cover his face when James pelts him with a gobstone.

Late that night, he lets Remus hold him hostage outside the common room in a thinly veiled attempt to hide the surprise. He doesn’t complain; honestly, if snogging Remus all night were his surprise, it would be his best birthday yet. He groans when Remus pulls away finally.

“It’s time,” he murmurs against his lips. “Are you ready?”

Sirius grumbles out a quiet “Fine.” Grinning, Remus takes his hand and leads him through the portrait hole.

Peter really outdid himself this year. Muggle posters have been pasted all over the walls and enchanted to move- David Bowie and Queen and Mott the Hoople. Gryffindor Lion banners are strung up from the rafters and the mantle of the fireplace, some of them with Black 12 scribbled on them for his quidditch jersey. Music is playing from the beat up old record player in the corner. At least a hundred Gryffindors are milling about with cups of firewhisky and bottles of butterbeer. 

Sirius grins and pulls James into a headlock, rubbing his knuckles on that unruly hair. 

“Well done, Prongsie!” he teases. “You too, Peter. Excellent decorations.” 

“And what about me?” Remus asks with an eyebrow raised. Sirius takes his hand and kisses the skin of his knuckles. 

“You’re brilliant,” then, with a wicked smile. “Dance with me?”

“Oh, I-”

Remus doesn’t get much of a choice. He’s pulled to the dance floor and doesn’t leave Sirius’s side for the rest of the night. He sings happy birthday in his ear when Lily brings out a cake, and helps him blow out the candle. Close to midnight, he pulls him to the stairwell up to the boy’s dormitory and takes his face in his hands. His kiss tastes like birthday cake and November and pure, unadulterated  _ Remus.  _ His eyes twinkle in the moonlight when he pulls away, smiling, and whispers against his lips 

“Happy birthday, Sirius.”

Sirius wakes up on the floor, and for a moment thinks he’s still in his dream, that he’s still eighteen and stupid and  _ free _ . But the ache in his back and the cold concrete on the side of his face is a cruel reminder of his true age. 

James is dead. Lily is dead. Peter is a traitor. Remus hates him. 

He looks up at the scratches on the wall. 1,463 scratches on the wall; he’s twenty five today. 

When he closes his eyes again, he can almost hear Remus’s voice in his ear, can almost feel his lips brushing the dry, cracked skin.  _ Sirius,  _ he thinks to himself in Remus’s voice.  _ Happy birthday. _


End file.
